Father of Mine
by calicoskies4ever
Summary: Post Transference, Lionel Luthor reconsiders his way of life, and more specifically his parenting skills. Now, if only it’s not too late to save his son. Warning spoilers for Transference, and Fracture, child abuse, swearing, AU, OOC, my usual stuff.


Post Transference, Lionel Luthor reconsiders his way of life, and more specifically his parenting skills. Now, if only it's not too late to save his son. Warning spoilers for _Transference, _and _Fracture, _child abuse, swearing, alternate universe, OOC, and my other usual stuff.

Despite his claims, and all evidence to the contrary, Lionel Luthor was not angry with his son. True, he was enjoying this far too much, behaving in a very un-Luthor-like manner, and it was because of the boy that he would be spending the rest of his—short and miserable—life in prison, but even that didn't make him as mad as he would have thought. As he lay back on the cold stiff mattress, in the dark, windowless cell, all he could think of were the things he had done to deserve this.

His parents—if you could cal them that—were abusive, drunken, neglectful monsters, who barely deserved the decent burial he gave them, let alone life and the freedom to continue as they had been throughout their lives. His past was a liability, a disgrace, a nightmare from which he just managed to escape only in their absence, but even now he occasionally awoke in the darkness, terrified that his father was only inches away, stinking of cheep whiskey and the frustrate sweat of a man worked half to death. Yes, he had killed them, and for that he deserved to be punished, but this wasn't about them. He knew it; his son knew it, Hell—Clark Kent probably knew it.

Here he was, in the final weeks of his life, and his mind kept drifting back to his son. He thought of Lex's childhood, one incident in particular. Lillian had been snooping in his personal, work papers and he knew it, but accusing her of—well anything—wouldn't be nearly as effective, and besides he had more important things in mind. He wanted to push the two apart, s he could get closer to his boy.

"Alexander Luthor!" he'd shouted, charging into his son's room. The child shrank away, all but diving under a desk to hide. "What is the rule about my briefcase?" he asked, already knowing the answer, and anticipating even the little one's response.

"Don't ever, ever touch it,"" the red-haired chubby-cheeked angel recalled nervously, picking up a toy solider, and paint brush.

"And you know I can tell when it's been opened, right?" Lex seemed far less concerned now. "Then is there something you'd like to tell me?" He picked the boy up, pulled him close, careful not to actually hit or injure the child's fragile, pathetic body. When Lex lay quivering on the floor, propped up on his hand and knees, gasping for breath, when he sobbed, "I don't care about your stupid papers! Mom did it. I saw her going through your work stuff. She made me promise not to tell." Then his wife came in, they fought, he got angry, pushed her, and left the room, only-he didn't really leave, he stepped out into the hall, and hid in the room across from his son's, waiting. "Mom? Are you okay?"

"Don't! You've said enough." And in that moment, when he needed her most, Alexander's mother abandoned him, just like Lionel had planned. Lex curled up on his bed, weak, sad and lonely. The elder Luthor male planned his attack right down to the last detail, and he even waited just long enough so that his son would think he was completely and utterly alone in the world before repapering.

"Lex. Son?" he called, softly, kneeling at the child's bedside. "I'm sorry for that. I over reacted before, and blamed you for something you hadn't done. Hey, it's alright. Come here, oh—oh—hey. Don't cry, Son. Please," he begged, pulling the child close yet again, hugging him this time. "There, see, you're my big, strong boy, aren't you?" Alexander nodded solemnly. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"Okay." The boy did exactly as his father knew he would. Lionel nudged his ribs slight, flashing a bright smile at him.

"Can you smile for me, hmm, Buddy? How about some ice cream? We boys could have ourselves a very special day. Does that sound alright to you?" Lex followed him down to the kitchen where both Luthors ate large sundaes, until Lex's face, hands, hair, and virtually everything else was covered in a thin sugary crust. "Uh—oh. If Mommy sees how dirty I've let you get, I'm gonna be in big trouble."

"Maybe I could take a bath," the five-yea-old suggested. Suddenly, a voice rang out in the older man's head, _don't do it! He's so small. Look at him; he's willing to do anything to earn your affection. Don't put him through this. _"Come on, Daddy. I'll help you clean up the kitchen and you can help e clean up." _There, see, he wants it too; _he tried to tell the voice.

"Alright, then, Kiddo, let's go." Of course the bath wasn't really a bath, but a trap. Lionel saw that now. His son was never the same after that night. _You destroyed his life in less than five years! No wonder he hates you. Monster. Beast! Fiend. You deserve this and a hundred times worse!_ Even now his mind taunted him, punished him.

"I know!" he sobbed, to no one in particular. "Just shut up." _No, not until you see all that you've done to him. That night wasn't you only time you molested your son. You were his father. _"I'm sorry." _Too late, _his brain informed him. "Please, no more. Please. I'll do anything. I'll be a good father, a good man. Just bring him back and give me another chance." _I'm your conscious not God._ Lionel saw himself again, the stone in his palm, reaching out for the poor boy's hand. He had been perfectly happy to kill his son, his only son, for nothing—nothing that was _his_ fault anyway. As he fell asleep, Lionel Luthor felt grateful that he was about to die. "Just one more month, he thought. In a few weeks, I'll be gone. Lex will have a chance to heal, and then he's going to be alright, because I won't be there anymore."

So, it stands to reason tat when the man went to see the prison doctor the very next day, he learned that he wasn't going to die after all. The first thing he did was go back to his cell and wonder. "What happened?" he asked himself, stupidly. _You've been given a second chance, for Lex. _The next thing he did was call his son, and amazingly, he showed up.

"Lex, I—I wanted to say that—I—"

"Don't, okay? Just don't! I can't handle anymore of your crap. What are you going to tell me this time? You wanna do—whatever it takes to switch bodies again, or maybe switch with Clark another time so you can finish what you started in my office?"

"Lex, I don't know what you're talking about. I don't remember the last few days. I know I was trying to—you are right. I was going to steal the only thing I hadn't already taken. I am sorry, Son. I want you to know that. I remember when you were just a very, little boy, and I did…I hurt you in unimaginable ways, and for that—Lex. No, please, I have to—there is something I have to tell you."

"You've been cured. Did you think I wouldn't call your doctor the second I got off the phone? Enjoy the miracle, Dad. This way you get to spend even more time here. Be a man—and if you ever call me again, I'll give Perry White the exclusive his been begging for since I was fourteen, and then I'll throw myself off the roof of the Luthorcorp building. "

"Lex—I was wrong. I did everything wrong. Do you want a confession, answers? Anything you want, please, just say it, tell me. I'm sorry, Son. I'm so, so—so sorry. I won't. Please."

"I want—for you to go to Hell," The little boy shouted before racing out the room, out of the prison, and—Lionel knew even if he couldn't see—back to his car, to cry and probably consider driving into a tree.

"Please, give him my strength. Give him my health, and my strength, and whatever else he needs to get over this. I was a bad, horrible man, and what's worse, I was his father. I'm sorry."

Over the next few months, Luthor used his abilities for good, doing everything he cold to help as many of the other inmates as possible. He knew it would never make up for Lex, but it was better than nothing, better than the alternative.

Then, Genevieve Teague got him out, and once again, Lionel knew his mission. His child was heading down a dangerous road, and if someone didn't do something quick, his son would disappear, and the only thing left would be a cold, empty shell of a man, a carbon copy of the person he had once been himself.

XxXxXxXxX

He wasn't out of jail long before his son asked him to stop by the mansion, but he knew it wasn't going to be for a good conversation, or an easy one. Lex wanted to hurt him, or fight with him, or something, and it was going to be Hell trying to get the poor kid to be able to look at him without trembling. "He has to listen to me this time. I can't keep doing this, arguing with him over every little issue. He's so—" Hurt_? Terrified, confused, lost, numbed from the years of ungodly pain, and horror? Stop me when I get to one you haven't heard yet. _"Oh, shut up, you're not helping."

"Lex, I—really appreciate you inviting me over. I'm sure there's a reason for your doing this, but I would like it if we could have an actual conversation, son."

"Shut up," the little boy part of his personality was much ore active than Alexander would like, but the moment he had walked through the door, Lionel knew that his son was one word away from regressing into an infantile state. _Remember after Lillian's funeral, you went to Lex's room, and he just curled up in a ball, and did nothing but cry and make soft sucking sounds for a week. The doctor wanted to commit him, but you said, "No son of mine will spend a second in one of those places." Opps, looks like you even managed to mess that one up._

Slowly, Lex began to rock back and forth in his seat, trying carefully to hide this action from his father, and failing miserably. He was just too scared, too small, too terrified. He was gone.

"I'll leave now. Don't worry. I'm not trying to take your company away from you. It's yours now. Everything is yours now. It's safe, Budd—Lex. You're safe now, and—um, Ill be staying far, far away from you for the rest of—forever." Lionel was half way to the door when eh heard the sound of the boy vomiting. "Lex?" he called to no response. "Lex?" The old man raced across the room on a pair of young man's legs, the sort of feat only a parent with a sick child could ever accomplish.

The little boy was half passed out, covered in a thin liquid mess. "Oh, Buddy, Buddy, Buddy. You need to be cleaned up. I'm gonna—I will not hurt you. It's okay, don't worry. I um—I'm sorry, but it's all over your clothes. Do I have your permission to give you help? I promise no bad touches. I know. You don't trust me. That's okay. You're allowed to be scared." Lionel took off the little boy's clothes, hating himself even more each time Alexander flinched, put him in a nice warm bath, cleaned him, carefully, toweled him off, with even more care—as though he might snap with the slightest touch—and then put him into his pajamas. "You feeling any better? I'll have them send up some orange Jell-O. Sill your favorite right? That's a good—I mean—okay. I wish there were some other way for me to be able to help you, without making it worse."

He had been talking almost non-stop, in the hopes that if he explained what he was doing, it would help him stay calm. More time passed, Lex was able to keep down his Jell-O, but didn't seem up to anything else. He lay in bed, with the covers wrapped around himself, shivering, and trying to compose himself. Lionel found an old action figure, stuffed in the bedside table, and the boy took it, silent.

For sixteen hours he stayed like that. Around hour 11, father started to wonder if he should call a doctor. Fourteen hours into it, Alexander reached out and tugged on his Dad's shirt sleeve. "What is it, hmm? Oh—bathroom? That's what you're trying to tell me, right? Think you can make it on your own, or are those legs feeling icky? Okay, I'll just walk you over. You'll see, its okay, no more touching, not now, not ever." Lionel smiled when the hand was clamped over his mouth. "I'll shut up." He didn't say it, but the first thought he had was, _attaboy_. "He's getting stronger. If I do things right, he just might come out of this alright."

Throughout the whole day Lex sucked on ice chips, and swallowed three doses pink medication to calm his stomach. "Is there anything else I can get for you, Lex? You're looking much better now. Maybe some soup, or a—something, anything?" Lex shook his head. "Do you want me to leave?"

"Promise. Promise. Not. To. Hurt. Me?" He croaked, looking up at his father desperately.

"I would sooner walk in front of a train. And I do mean that, now. I was a monster, but I have changed. I won't."

"Stay then. Don't think, I'm really sick. Just got…nevermind."

"You were so afraid of me that you became physically ill?" Lionel suggested, wondering why in the world he was given a clean bill of health when his child clearly deserved it more, needed it more. Lex looked away, ashamedly. "You've done nothing wrong. This is all on me, son. This is my fault, not yours. _I_ hurt you. _I _caused this, and _I_ am going to fix it, okay?"

"I dunno," Lex answered, quickly, but Lionel thought he sensed something in his son, something that he hadn't seen in years. Lex was getting stronger. Maybe soon he wouldn't even need his father—_if you can even call me that­—_any longer, and he would be able to be a normal, healthy, happy person.


End file.
